


JWP 2020 #2: Phobias Redux

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Humor, M/M, Phobias, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25045528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: They were just leaving the crime scene. Written for JWP prompt #2 over on Watson's Woes.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13
Collections: Watson's Woes JWP Collection: 2020





	JWP 2020 #2: Phobias Redux

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [JWP 2019 Amnesty Prompt: Irrational Fears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076565) by [methylviolet10b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b). 



> Warnings: Somewhat lighthearted treatment of phobias, but not dismissive. Phobias come in many forms and really aren't funny to those who suffer from them.
> 
> Related to JWP 2019's [Irrational Fears](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20076565), but you don’t have to read that to read this.

They were just leaving the crime scene, Sherlock talking a mile a minute, Greg shaking his head and calling in orders on his radio, when faint sounds of voices came from the other end of the corridor. John cocked his head, listening. High-pitched voices.

“What’s that?” Sherlock snapped. “Lestrade, your people can’t possibly be allowing anyone near the crime scene. Even they aren’t that incompetent.”

“Of course not. We’ve cordoned the whole area off. But we can’t shut down the whole complex, particularly not since they’ve booked in a competition that starts in a few hours. Like it or not, we have to allow them into the arena proper.” The voices became louder. Even without being able to understand what they were saying, there was no mistaking the notes of excitement. Greg grimaced. “It seems the first competitors have arrived.”

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Sherlock draw himself up, as if to argue…and step back, towards the nearest wall. “What kind of competition?” he asked when Sherlock said nothing.

Greg looked a little green. “Cheerleading.”

What was the collective noun for cheerleaders? John wondered as the young women came in spandex-wearing, heavily made-up and glittered waves. A squad? A battalion? A declaration? He didn’t know, and it didn’t really matter. He just got out of the way as the others did the same.

He understood why Greg looked vaguely nauseated as he crowded back against the wall, getting as far away from them as he could. He still remembered the epic drinksfest it took for the inspector to reveal the events behind his deeply-held phobia of glitter. But Sherlock looked ghostly-pale and equally clammy, and when John leaned up against him, he could feel tremors running through his lanky frame.

It seemed to take forever, but was probably only a few minutes before the cheerleaders and their coaches passed by. Greg stepped away from the wall and took a shaky breath. “There’s more on the way, believe it or not, so we’d best get…” He stopped as he took a good look at Sherlock. “Are you all right?”

Sherlock turned his head in Greg’s direction, but said nothing. If anything, he looked even more pallid.

“I told you that sandwich had been sitting out too long,” John said, adroitly stepping into the conversational gap. “I’d say I told you so, but I think you can deduce it on your own.” He glanced over at Greg. “You’d better not wait on us. Go on ahead.”

Under other circumstances, John knew Greg wouldn’t have been put off so easily. But there was already a sparkling trail discernable on the floor, and Greg was still looking fairly green. “Yeah, all right. I’ll ring later.”

John waited until Greg had a good head start, then slipped one of Sherlock’s arms over his good shoulder. “Lean on me if you need to. I’ll get you out of here.”

“I can walk.” Sherlock’s tone held only a ghost of the waspishness John might have expected under other circumstances. Nor did Sherlock pull away.

“That’s all to the good. You’re lighter than you should be, but you’re not all that light, as I know. And we wouldn’t want to give anyone any ideas. They talk enough as it is.”

Sherlock snorted, and a little color came back into his face.

By the time they reached the street, there was no sign of Greg or any of the Yarders, and Sherlock looked close to normal. He raised a hand to summon a cab with something close to his usual flair.

“I don’t suppose you care to tell me about your…aversion…to cheerleaders,” John said in the quiet of the cab, too softly for anyone but Sherlock to hear. He knew better than to say the word phobia, although he certainly recognized a phobic reaction when he saw one, and he knew Sherlock knew that. “Beyond the logical reasons, of course.”

“Dreadful creatures.” The words were mocking, but the shudder was real enough. Sherlock took a deep, steadying breath and looked John full in the face. “No. But…maybe someday.”

John smiled. “It’s all fine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 2, 2020.
> 
> Prompt: Phobias Redux: Let’s revisit an old prompt. Either Watson or Holmes has a phobia. Who is it, why do they have it, and how did the other discover it?


End file.
